


Stretched

by Jadesfire



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:38:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He's different down here, as though he's shed the skin of Captain Jack Harkness, all swirling coat and ready smile, and doesn't quite know who he is without it.</i> [sequel to "Decisions"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stretched

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://dune-drd.livejournal.com/profile)[**dune_drd**](http://dune-drd.livejournal.com/) who requested a week after [Decisions](http://heretoutopia.livejournal.com/36807.html). Setting is unspecified early S2 of Torchwood. References to end of S3 Doctor Who.

  


_Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread_  
Bilbo Baggins  


  
Ianto learnt a lot about firearms while Jack was away. He learnt how to shoot without flinching or blinking, how to sleep with a gun under his pillow, how to draw it quickly and efficiently and aim without hesitation. But he's never been comfortable holding it, not like Tosh or Owen or Gwen.

Or Jack.

Lurking at the back of the firing range, trying not to fidget with the uncomfortable ear-protectors, he watches Jack steadily work his way through the array of weapons on the table. Pistols, revolvers, semi-automatics, antiques and the latest models, a couple of rifles, and Jack's own Webley, all laid out and waiting for him.

Jack's already torn a few paper targets to shreds, and Ianto watches as he takes them down, moving slowly and carefully, his shoulders tight and drawn up, his back stiff. He's different down here, as though he's shed the skin of Captain Jack Harkness, all swirling coat and ready smile, and doesn't quite know who he is without it.

Instead of replacing the targets, Jack goes into the corner of the room where Ianto can't quite see. There's some rustling, the clink of glass, and Jack comes back with a large box, setting it down and returning for another. Then he starts to unpack the contents and Ianto frowns, moving out of the shadows for a better look. Jack is filling the narrow shelf at the other end of the room with wine bottles of every shape and size, more than enough to see even Torchwood through a few late nights.

As he walks back to the guns, Ianto sees that Jack's face is oddly blank, so distant and detached that he looks like he's sleepwalking. Then he puts his ear protectors back on, reloads and starts to fire again

Soon, the wall is covered with dark splashes of wine, looking like blood smeared up the brickwork. Each bullet's impact makes him jump, and he can't look away from Jack, the ease in his posture as he holds the gun, the way that the act seems to drain the tension out of him. It's not making him look relaxed, though. It makes him look empty, as though the stress is bleeding out of him, leaving him hollow.

A sharp pain in his hands makes Ianto realise that he's balled them into fists, nails pressing into his palms and gripping so tightly that his fingers are cramping. It breaks the spell, the transfixion with the line of Jack's arm and the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes. Ianto uncurls his hands with an effort, and decides that this has gone on long enough. Emerging from his hidden observation post, he starts calling Jack's name as he closes the distance between them. The absence of expression worries him, and he doesn't want to be a victim of Jack's lack of concentration.

As he comes closer, it seems that concentration is the one thing Jack doesn't lack. He doesn't turn as Ianto keeps speaking, just fires shot after shot, shattering the last few bottles before finally lowering the gun and pulling his ear protectors off, letting Ianto do the same.

"Hey, Ianto," he says lightly. "What you doing down here?"

"Taking a late night stroll. Heard some noise. Thought I'd see what was going on." Ianto tries to match the tone, pushing his hands into his pockets, and hoping that he looks suitably unthreatening, because the gun is lowered, but Jack's still holding onto it.

"Nothing's going on." Shaking his head, Jack finally puts the gun down, picking up his own revolver and checking it before shoving it into its holster at his hip. "You can go home, it's fine."

"Or I could go get a mop." At Jack's surprised look, Ianto tilts his head towards the far end of the range. "You made a bit of a mess. Or didn't you notice?"

"Yeah, sorry about that." It's an automatic reply, Ianto can tell, because Jack's eyes are still vacant and his face is still blank. He's staring at the far wall, watching the wine drip from the shelf, the shards of glass that cover the floor. There's a flicker of something as Jack blinks, so Ianto risks another step forwards.

"Did you have something against the wine personally, or did someone at Oddbins just really tick you off?"

That gets him a smile, or at least a quirk of the lips that he'll settle for right now. It's something, but not enough.

"Looks kinda like that, doesn't it?" Jack says, turning his back on Ianto and starting to pack away the guns. "I just wanted something else to shoot at for a change. When I took Gwen to Tesco's- There's just so much of everything, so much choice. It seemed a shame to just pick one. And most of the things we go after aren't made of paper."

He grins over his shoulder, and Ianto half-smiles in response, knowing he's seen that look before. When Jack had taken him on that date – that real date, and his face is warming just thinking about it – he'd taken one look at the menu, then closed it and given Ianto his best winning smile. _"Why don't you order for us?"_ he'd said, fingers running lightly over the back of Ianto's hand. _"I trust you."_.

He didn't know what was going on then, and he still doesn't now, so he just tilts his head the other way and says, "Well, if we ever get invaded by the bottle aliens from planet Merlot, then you're ready for them."

"Ready for anything, that's me." But Jack still hasn't looked round, and his gaze is fixed firmly back on the table. Ianto doesn't know whether to be angry or insulted or just plain worried, because he can't keep track of which Jack he's dealing with here. Before he can work out what he's supposed to do next, Jack says, "Go home, Ianto. I'll clear everything up, I swear."

"Jack?"

There must have been enough of his confusion, his concern in his voice, because Jack turns to him at last, eyes dark and shadowed.

"I'm fine. Really." When Ianto's look tells him exactly what he thinks of that statement, Jack gives a snort of laughter. "It's just… It's been a long year."

"For all of us," Ianto says, not about to let Jack get away with that one. "Suzie. Lisa. Abaddon." He pauses there, knowing from Jack's face that he's not thinking about any of those things, but not knowing what he needs to say to get a reaction. Cautiously, he takes a step forward, saying, "The Toclafane. Saxon. The Doctor."

They're the words that get a definite, predictable response, every time. Ianto kind of hates himself for using it, but he's the unarmed one here. He watches Jack's eyes narrow, the tight clench of his fists and the stiff set of his shoulders. When Jack still doesn't say anything, Ianto risks another step, coming close enough to run a hand down Jack's arm.

"We've all had a tough time, Jack. You're not alone in this one."

There's a mixture of anger and frustration in Jack's eyes, in the way he steps out of Ianto's reach, and Ianto feels some of the annoyance himself, at the way Jack's still keeping that distance between them, still keeping everyone at arm's length, still holding himself back. When it comes to riddles wrapped in mysteries inside enigmas, Russia's got nothing on Captain Jack Harkness.

Jack's shaking his head, and Ianto forces himself not to say something they'll both regret, just because Jack's refusal is really starting to get to him. Instead, when Jack presses his lips together against whatever he might have been about to say, Ianto moves closer again, dropping his voice, taking the risk and letting some of his frustration show.

"Whatever happened, whatever you don't want to tell me, I don't care. I. Don't. Care. Just stop this, alright? Please. You're not alone anymore. You don't have to be alone."

"You don't understand." The words seem to slip out of Jack's mouth before he knows what he's saying, because he presses his lips together tightly behind them. But Ianto knows an opening when he sees one.

"Because you won't tell me," he says, moving closer, pressing the advantage. "You won't tell any of us. What happened, Jack? What did the Doctor do to you?"

That gets him a bitter bark of a laugh. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." Jack runs a hand through his hair, looking so much older than Ianto remembers. "Look, not yet, alright? I hear you, but…" He shakes his head. "Not yet."

It's still not an answer, still doesn't tell Ianto what's wrong, except that Jack looks like someone who's walked through hell and out the other side. Ianto knows a little about that. He saw the survivors of Canary Wharf, saw that look on their faces, on his own face when he looked in the mirror. And in some ways, that's all the answer he needs for now.

"Alright," he says, and this time, when he touches Jack, runs his fingers from shoulder to hand, lacing them through Jack's, Jack doesn't resist.

"Alright." Jack's voice is low, desperate almost, and his fingers tighten on Ianto's. Then he turns away, looking at the far end of the range. "Damn, what a mess."

And Ianto knows he isn't just talking about the wine..

"You can clean it up in the morning," he says, trying to get his voice somewhere back near normal.

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Me? I thought that's what I paid you for."

"You should have thought of that before you let me carry a gun."

Jack's laugh echoes off the bare walls, and as he leads the way back upstairs, Ianto thinks that at long last, Jack might just have come home.

 

 


End file.
